


My Own Bright Nova

by Nahara



Category: BBC Merlin
Genre: IN SPACE!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahara/pseuds/Nahara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Igraine tells Arthur bedtimes stories they are about the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Own Bright Nova

When Igraine tells Arthur bedtimes stories they are about the stars. She says each star is more than a star, more than a ball of gas millions of light years away; they are heart-beats, each one a pulsing life belonging to an ‘astra’ – a powerful race which made their home in the vastness of space. You can’t see them but for their bright hearts, she whispers against Arthur’s temple, stroking the hair away from his forehead. And Arthur declares that he’ll meet one someday, makes a promise to himself that he’ll be an astronaut like his parents and discover these astras for himself. Igraine laughs and laughs with delight, the skin around her eyes wrinkling with lines of happiness. She’d says, I have no doubt, my little explorer. I have no doubt.

*

When Igraine dies, Uther does not tell Arthur bedtime stories. He does not talk of Igraine’s death at her laboratory is Space Station Delta-8 or that her body has been set adrift, allowed to float for eternity in the vacuum of space. It’s what she wanted and so Uther complies, but only for her sake and not because he forgives. Uther will never forgive. When the astras come to him, mourning Igraine as though they too have lost a beloved, Uther turns them away. They have betrayed Igraine – their hearts too brilliant and blinding to notice what is happening beyond the circle of their own light. Once, Uther worked side by side with the astra race, allies in the Pendragon Space Corp. Now? Uther owes nothing to space. It has taken his wife but it will take no more – Uther will hunt space, kill it and burn it down until the there is so much fire no one on earth will see the stars for the flames.

Uther does not talk about much anymore, not in front of Arthur. His son grows proud and determined and handsome – more like his mother each day, but Uther can not (will not) see the changes. When he looks at his son he can only envision a little boy sitting on a window cushion looking up at the sky and asking why his mother never comes back down to Earth.

 

*

Arthur is a good son and follows in his father’s footsteps, stands in the cold shade of the Pendragon shadow and does as he’s bid, believes what he’s told. He knows the anti-Astra propaganda by heart, can hold a conversation over caviar and an ’89 whiskey about the true nature of the queer race; they are unnatural, they are dangerous, they should not share their light with Earth. He grins around his cigarette and seduces Sophias and Vivians at company parties, talks knowingly about Project Cemelot and his space training. The Morgauses and the Nimues widen their eyes and say, you’re so brave, aren’t you scared of the silence up there? Arthur shakes his head at the Guineveres and the Freyas, stubbing out his cigarette. No, Arthur Pendragon does not get scared; it is his duty to protect the people of Earth – it is the reason his father set up Project Camelot and the reason he is training to be an astronaut. Arthur laughs and makes a quip about being a space sheriff, marshalling the sky. Then he leans down and looks into their eyes and touches a thumb to their cheek and says, come with me. They always do. He leads them back to his penthouse and fucks each of them hard into his bed, the springs groaning and the women moaning but he stays silent, keeping his eyes tight shut and seeing stars on the inside of his lids.

The first time he goes into space, Arthur doesn’t admit that he’s scared. Who would he tell, anyway? His father barely glances up at him as he stands to attention in Uther’s private study and tells him he’s been approved for space flight. Uther signs his name on several reports and Arthur waits in silence, watching the strange silver metronome tick-tock on his father’s desk. When Uther finally speaks it is only to take off his spectacles and say, is that all, son? And yes, it is, so Arthur had leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

At least Arthur isn’t alone for his first flight. There is Leon and Gawain and Lance, his deputies, his knights. They have each other’s backs. The media likes to call them the Cadre of Camelot or some bullshit like that. Petite blonde journalists proposition Arthur, ‘heir apparent’ of Uther’s kingdom and he’s happy to oblige. Pleased and sex-spent they write ‘exclusive’ stories about his golden figure, about his courage and they wish him luck in discovering the outer reaches of space. Arthur’s men laugh at the articles and bow to him in jest, like he’s some sort of prince. They rocket up into the black together, feel the pressure of pushing through the atmosphere like a bullet from a gun and it feels as though an elephant is sitting on their chests. For a moment all goes red, blood and fire, heat and terror. The sound is like nothing Arthur has ever heard before and he can’t breath and he can’t breath and he can’t –

But then the red ends and he’s drifting in a landscape he’s been dreaming about since he was a little boy tucked up in bed. None of his cadre talk, they’re just sitting and breathing in deep lungfulls like they’ve never thought about before. The shuttle revolves slowly and Earth comes into view in the little window. The world looks like a small place, blue and broken. Arthur wonders if he’ll ever want to go back to it now that he’s seen it from this angle.

At his new home on the space station ‘Albion V’, Arthur throws himself into his work. He likes the feel of living a life in a weightless world, not only his body but the burden of everything on his shoulders is buoyed up like a plastic ball in the sea. It’s good. It’s freeing. Albion V is old and Arthur spends much of his time fixing cracked gaskets and rewiring broken computer switchboards; it’s grunt work but it’s work that Arthur feels proud of. He wants Albion V to run smoother than the backside of a baby. Arthur’s favourite duty by far is to take a shift in the observation room, what everyone calls The Turret, a little glass-panelled room only big enough for one. It’s the best view in the universe and Arthur secretly coverts it, taking more observation shifts than any of the other men. They look at him askance when he schedules their shifts in The Turret, Lance is reticent, Gawain understanding, Leon confused. Arthur’s glad they don’t ask him the reasons for why he does this because he doesn’t have an answer. Maybe it’s the silence or maybe it’s that he can look and look and never be bored. He jots down notes about constellations, observes supernovae 43 (or 58 or 36 or 22) million light years away and logs long strings of data into the computer. It should be boring. It isn’t. Not for Arthur.

When he sleeps he dreams of The Turret, of sitting in the cocoon of glass and watching the stars. He’s waiting for something, he can feel it. Usually he wakes before he can find what he’s looking for and his stomach aches and his eyes sting, like he wants to cry. He’d never cry though, not over something as stupid and fleeting as a dream. But then one night it comes – that moment he’d been waiting for – and he wish it never had. Space doesn’t look black in this dream; it is washed in muted blues and greens like a faded postcard of the seaside. A body is drifting towards him, a woman, and she’s floating on her back like she’s doing the backstroke. Arthur’s heart hurts and he strains again the glass, pressing his fingers and nose right up against The Turret walls until he tumbles forward and he’s outside Albion V, flying towards the woman. She’s blonde and familiar and when Arthur takes a good long took at her serene face, he knows it’s his mother. He opens his mouth, ready to scream or laugh or cry but there’s no air in space, he’s choking on nothing as his lungs heave and burn, desperate for oxygen. It hurts like some bitch has stuck a white-hot poker down his throat. His vision is spiralling with spots of black. His mother’s corpse smiles.

Arthur wakes with as gasp and goes to vomit in the tiny toilet cabin connected to his room. He retches until nothing comes out but even then he continues to spasm and dry heave over the plastic toilet bowl until he’s shaking from the strain. He feels light-headed, exhausted, his stomach muscles ache, but all he can see is the curl of his mother’s lips. Doctor Gaius, an astronaut that’s not stepped foot on Earth in almost twenty years and who’s seen plenty of young astronauts come and go from Albion V, hooks Arthur up to an IV drip for a day and tells him to lay off work for a week. The cadre are more than happy to pick up on Arthur’s slack and Arthur’s too tired to argue – he’s not sure he can face going back to The Turret so soon after… well, he’s no fucking coward but he’ll take it slow for now. There’s nothing wrong with catching his breath.

*

Months pass and they celebrate their first year anniversary at Albion V. They rip up old vacuum-pack food wrappers and old mission handbooks then string them together like birthday bunting. Gawain brings out a bottle of Jack’s that Arthur’s never seen before and they turn off the gravity boosters. Gaius raises his eyebrow in consternation at the sounds of hip-hop and blues, standards and folk music all mashed together in a string of jubilation and drunken voices. Arthur laughs a lot and does somersaults in the zero-grav, gyrating his hips to the beats. He’s cheered on by his drunken deputies as they pass the Jack’s from lips to lips. This rare moment of freedom and repose does not last. It doesn’t simply end – it shatters.

There’s a loud bang and a shudder from the bowels of Albion V – an event that has everyone sober in a moment, glancing around at one another. The master alarm is screaming. One of the oxygen tanks has exploded and they’re venting their life-blood into the cosmos. Arthur takes command, ordering Gawain to fetch the emergency repair tools, while he and Leon suit up to make a re-con spacewalk. Lance doesn’t wait for Arthur’s order, he’s already in the engine room trying to isolate the bleeding, tapping out a quick pattern on the mainframe, face grim. Arthur doesn’t have time to watch, he climbs into his suit, clicking on the boots and then the helmet and lastly the gloves. He checks Leon’s suit and claps a hand to his shoulder to say he’s good and Leon does the same for him, his hand steady. Arthur speaks into his radio, testing, testing, you copy this Leon? And Leon replies in a tinny voice, roger that, sir, loud and clear.

They step into the airlock chamber and wait as Gawain closes the door behind them, keying in the code to seal it tightly. He raises a thumbs-up to the window in the door. The green light turns to red on Arthur’s right, making the airlock appear eerie, like an old-fashioned submarine. He can hear Leon’s laboured breathing across the radio and Arthur wonders if his own breath is that loud. He’s about to say something to keep his man thinking straight, keep that calm head of his staying calm, when suddenly there’s a bellow of orders down the radio, filling his helmet with fear. _Abort! Abort!_ Arthur turns his head to look at the window in the door, opens his mouth to talk to Gawain, when suddenly the airlock chamber’s red light shatters. The doors to outer space buckle and shatter outwards; Arthur and Leon are lifted off their feet and sucked into the vacuum, like water through a plughole. Arthur can’t see anything; he’s too disorientated, spinning away from Albion V. The radio is still crackling at him, giving him snatches of Gawain and Leon’s almost delirious voices.

_Arthur? Arthur! Come in Arthur, over. Come in dammit!_

_Shit. Fucking shit._

_Arthur do you copy – ?_

Then it cuts out altogether.

Arthur’s adrift without a radio. His heart is beating frantically and the stars are spinning around him, a vortex of light. He flings his arms out, as though trying to grab onto the edge of space and halt his progress. But it’s empty here with nothing to hold, nothing to struggle against. This isn’t like water, but he’s still drowning. Arthur can see Albion V getting smaller as he floats away. He feels like throwing up or screaming but settles for crying. There’s no one to see or hear. Arthur hopes they’re fixing the station, he can see the misty trail of oxygen pumping into space. They can’t save him but they can save themselves – they must.

*

Arthur’s been drifting for a while now – hours? He doesn’t know. It can’t be more than forty-eight; he wouldn’t last beyond that with the small oxygen tank strapped to his back. The silence is the hardest thing about the drifting. It presses at Arthur. So he sings – broken, whispered lyrics of half-forgotten songs. Even to Arthur’s ears he sounds as though he’s dying, singing at his own funeral. Arthur thinks of his mother as he watches the stars, tries to remember her as she was when he knew her, warm and comfortable, snuggling into him as she told him bedtime tales.

He almost doesn’t spot the body floating towards him, he’s too engrossed in his memories, singing his voice hoarse. Arthur does see it eventually, though. The lyrics stop and his heart aches. Can’t he ever outrun that dream? He wants to forget. But the strange thing is, the body isn’t floating, it’s… flying? Arthur doesn’t know how to describe it other than flight, the way the body glides towards him as though it were in an imaginary gust of wind, buoyant on a space current. It isn’t a woman, but a young man. The person slows to drift slowly alongside him, a kindly smile on a narrow face. He looks so human that Arthur can feel more tears stinging at his eyes. The young man has black, unruly hair, sharp cheekbones and blue, blue eyes. Arthur had almost forgotten that such a colour could exist. There is so much black around him…

Arthur knows he’s hallucinating, making things up. It is a horrible dream, brought on by lack of oxygen. He must have been adrift for much long than he’d calculated. The young man has opened his mouth and is talking animatedly, eyes alight with mirth. Arthur shakes his head at the man – he can’t hear from inside the helmet. His visitor seems to understand and moves closer to Arthur, close enough that his brown clothing is brushing Arthur’s suit; and still the man moves closer until his nose touches the glass dome of the helmet. They stare at each other and Arthur’s breath catches in the back of his throat. This man – an astra, surely? first he’s ever seen – is beautiful. Not conventionally so, not with those ears and that chin but he’s the most fantastic thing Arthur think he has ever, or will ever, see. Like a strike of lighting – or perhaps as mundane as the brush of a feather – Arthur realises that there is no evil in this being before him. None at all. His father had been lying, and his mother telling the truth.

Without much thought he moves his face forward and touches his nose to the glass, too, like an Eskimo kiss.

The young man smiles. Arthur imagines he can feel the warmth of the other’s nose touching the tip of his. Skin on skin. Bu then… the astra is glowing a faint blue and his eyes are golden as he stares right into Arthur. Arms reach for him, fingers clutch at Arthur’s shoulders and _pull_ – pull him right out of his spacesuit like it’s made of so much smoke and air. Arthur’s startled and begins to thrash, panicked. The astra, holds on tight and says, I’ve got you, you’re alright, don’t be afraid. The sound of his voice sooths Arthur, calming him until he stills, languid in the boy’s arms. He doesn’t know why or when he realises but Arthur doesn’t need to breathe. It’s a comfort, not having to think about how he’s going to draw his next breath; he can concentrate on the pliant body curling around his. He looks up at the astra’s face and asks, what is your name? Another smile and then, _Merlin_. The name suits him, Arthur thinks.

I’m dying, he says to Merlin. He’s not angry now that he’s not dying alone, he’s calm. But Merlin frowns and shakes his head. He tells Arthur that he isn’t dying, that Merlin is going to save him. Arthur actually laughs until tears come. They drip down is face but he doesn’t take his arms from around Merlin’s waist to wipe them way. When he looks up at Merlin again, the boy is still frowning, exasperated. Merlin bites out a clipped remark that he _will_ save Arthur – it’s his destiny. Arthur settles down and stops laughing, though the smile never leaves his face. He doesn’t believe in destiny, but he doesn’t mind that Merlin does.

Arthur’s so contented, so happy to be held in a safe pair of arms that he moves forward, placing his lips on Merlin’s. The brief warmth is a _thank you_. He’s ready to pull back but Merlin won’t let go, mouth moving forward as they follow Arthur’s lips. He brackets Arthur’s face with his long, tapered fingers and holds him steady. A hot, moist tongue licks at Arthur’s lips, tracing the bow and dip once, then twice. Arthur hums and closes his eyes to the sensations before finally adding a little pressure to the kiss. Merlin opens up for Arthur, smiling into his mouth. It’s warm and wet and Merlin tastes like nothing Arthur’s ever experienced before. It’s not so much a taste as a feeling, or a vision, or a sound. All of his senses are being mixed together in a symphony of sensations. As Arthur licks into the mouth he gets a sudden flash, like a camera bulb, of a blue star burning against the velvet of space. It makes him gasp.

Merlin captures Arthur’s lower lip and sucks gently; a finger is now tracing Arthur’s hair-line by his right ear, toying with the soft hair at his nape. The lips move to press a series quick kisses to the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Then the hand moves, tracing a path down Arthur’s neck and across his chest before he feels those fingers slip under his shirt. Arthur shivers at the cool touch as it snakes its way across his skin, stopping to rest over Arthur’s heart. Merlin pauses there, breath hot against Arthur’s mouth. What is it? he asks Merlin. The astra is silent for a while, simply feeling the beat of a living heart beneath his palm. At last he whispers, I have never felt a heart like this, it is so close, so small, perfect. In a fit of something Arthur identifies dimly as desire, he arches forward, brining his hips flush against Merlin’s. The man keens at the touch, blue eyes popping open wide. There is such a look of surprise and lust in those beautiful eyes that Arthur laughs again. He decides to take this slow, whatever this is. He doesn’t want to scare Merlin.

As they drift together, limbs entwined, Arthur shifts his arms until they’re holding on to bony hips, allowing him to manoeuvre his legs so that one slides between Merlin’s. Arthur’s thigh presses tight causing Merlin to sigh against the juncture of Arthur’s neck and shoulder. Their movements are lazy, languid, as they rock closer and closer together. They’re climbing high and Arthur can feel the curl of pleasure deep in his gut, rushing like wildfire up his body. The waves roll over him until he’s gasping, jerking spasmodically. Arthur thinks for a moment, in between peeks of pleasure, that this is a beautiful way to die. All those Earth women who he’d taken to bed with a flippant smile now feel sordid and unfulfilled when compared to this moment. Arthur didn’t have to close his eyes to see the stars.

*

Where are you taking me? Arthur whispers after some time. The boy in his arms smiles, a little irreverent, and a whole lot stunning, and says: I’m taking you home. Can’t you see? So Arthur turns his head, looks behind him at a sight he’d never though he’d glimpse again. Albion V; it does look like home, more so than the Pendragon manner ever had back on terra firma. He notices that the oxygen leak must have been fixed, Albion V is longer venting. A sense of relief floods Arthur’s body. The relief is replaced almost immediately with the feeling of loss – he’ll go back to Albion V and he’ll have to let Merlin go. He doesn’t want to do it and he unconsciously tightens his grip. Merlin understands, stroking a thumb across Arthur’s cheek. We have to get you back in your suit now, Merlin says. Somehow Merlin had towed the spacesuit along with them; a wisp of crackling blue light is lassoed around it and Arthur can just make out the crimson dragon on the side of the helmet. Arthur wants to object when Merlin begins to pull away, wants to cling to arms, hips, hands as Merlin phases him through the suit – but he doesn’t. He’s proud of himself. Before Arthur’s head slips back into the helmet, he kisses Merlin once more, a slow, sensual show of gratitude and promise. _Thank you._ A smile against his lips and then only cool glass.

As Merlin flies them closer to Albion V, Arthur notices movement from the aft airlock. Two figures emerge heavily anchored to Albion V by cables. They look ridiculous from this distance and Arthur chuckles, thinking the two astronauts are like balloons tied to the space station. He glances at Merlin, watching his endearing, goofy face. He’s so caught up in his inner thoughts that he doesn’t see it happen, can’t wave it off or shield Merlin – he can’t do anything but watch. The red laser hits Merlin making his eyes widen in shock and disappointment. Arthur turns his head to see Gawain holding a hyper-neutron gun, yellow light blinking, faster and faster, almost charged for another blast. His heart stops and tries screaming at his men, Stop, don’t shoot, that’s an order! But the radio was still broken. Merlin loosened his grip on Arthur, body curving inwards protectively. Grimly, Arthur stretches out an arm, brushing Merlin’s clothing with his fingertips and propelling himself towards Merlin’s body. Merlin convulses in Arthur’s arms before extending a splayed hand over Arthur’s shoulder as though trying to reach for something, clawing at the black space. His eyes flame gold and suddenly the hyper-neutron gun explodes from Gawain’s grasp. Merlin slumps. His eyes are blue again, latched on to a star in the distance – a star gone nova. Arthur knows it as BK-201. It is brighter than he’d ever seen it, blinding and on the cusp of going supernova. It is dying; Merlin is dying.

The two deputies haul Arthur and the dying astra into Albion V. Arthur cradles Merlin’s form in his arms as the airlock doors close and the red-light switches off. When the green-light flickers to life and another door slide open to Albion V, Arthur wrenches his helmet and gloves off. He places as hand on Merlin’s cool skin. Lance rushes into the airlock and hunkers down beside Arthur asking, are you alright, sir? Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off of Merlin, who is convulsing with greater frequency, but says that he’d be better if they got off their arses and alerted Gaius to this medical emergency. A young astronaut who’d been hovering by the door takes off at a run. Gawain has his helmet off and is almost in tears, begging, apologising; he’s sorry, he didn’t know. Arthur just shakes his head, stripping himself of his suit entirely, so that he can lift Merlin in his arms with greater ease. As he walks along Albion V’s corridors, he whispers into Merlin’s ears, talking about destiny, begging him to stay.

Gaius comes running. A single eyebrow shoots up to his hairline at the sight of the astra, but wisely says nothing. He begins to exam Merlin even as they rush to Med-Bay 3, sometimes walking backwards as he runs a beeping scanner up and down. Every corner they turn, the more grim Gaius becomes. Merlin’s convulsions are less ferocious, he’s losing his private battle and Arthur wants to scream. When Merlin is safely deposited on a biobed, Arthur turns to the doctor and whispers, will he live? Tell me that he’ll survive. Gaius talks to him of statistics, rattles out the readings from his bio-scans, and shakes his head a lot. Arthur isn’t sure what most of it means, just that, yes, Merlin is dying. He’s a fish out of water, Gaius explains, this isn’t his environment. He waves at white, sterile walls of Albion V. It isn’t, never will be. Arthur shifts, runs a hand through his hair and watches Merlin’s pale face. Can we put him back in the water? A pause then a nod. Gaius is flying into action, mixing compounds and grumbling at his assistant. Arthur holds tight to Merlin’s hand thinking: _faster, faster, faster._ Merlin barely blinks as Gaius injects him with a buttercup-yellow liquid known as Morteus S104. Arthur lifts him off the biobed and rushes through more corridors, pressing his lips and nose to Merlin’s neck and breathing him in. He smells of silence and burning.

Lance already has a spacesuit ready for Arthur to climb into. Once securely in, he straps a harness to his suit so that there is no chance of drifting this time. He punches the button on the wall, closing the doors. Green light to red. Merlin is murmuring Arthur’s name over and over again – Arthur can’t hear, but he recognises the shape of his name on Merlin’s lips. The astra’s skin is slick with sweat and he’s glowing a faint electrical-blue. Arthur continues to chant, _faster, faster, faster_. Over the radio Lance is counting down: Spacewalk entry in five. In four. In three. Arthur shivers and tightens a strap on his harness. In one. The look on Merlin’s face when the airlock doors slide open is like bliss, mouth opening to say something. The blue is no longer faint but burning, glowing, obscuring his body from view. Arthur flips down his helmet’s UV-visor and continues to hold Merlin. He ratchets himself along the cable until he’s outside Albion V, an arm grasping at the metal maintenance ladder on the side of the hull. He can’t look at Merlin anymore, the sight is too bright, even through the visor. He’s a sun in Arthur’s arms.

When he lets go, Merlin’s body floats for a moment, hanging in space and staying beside Arthur. He almost thinks he sees a smile in the depths of the light. Arthur switches his radio off, he doesn’t want anyone to hear him say that he loves this strange, burning boy or that he grieves for a future not shared, rejoices for a life saved. He’s not sure if he’s been understood but he doesn’t care. In a moment, less than a blink, less than a nanosecond, Arthur is watching as Merlin rockets away, headed towards the burn nova that is his heart.

A shooting star.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically a mishmash of every space related piece of media I could remember ever watching/reading. In particular, I’d like to point out references to: _Battlestar Galactica_ , _Apollo 13_ , _Star Trek_ and _Darker than Black_.
> 
> In other news, I apologise for the angst and OOC-ness of this. IDEK. Although, on reflection, I was actually going to kill Merlin in this fic – so be grateful that my muse went D: and vetoed that idea.
> 
> Also, this was written before the BBC made Gawain = Gwaine. No apologies for spelling his name _properly_.


End file.
